


Tethers

by featherxquill



Series: Cornelia and her American [3]
Category: The Infinite Bad (Podcast)
Genre: 1920s, Banter, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Older Characters, One Night Stands, Prohibition, older people have sex too, rough vanilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 03:11:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16987026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherxquill/pseuds/featherxquill
Summary: A continuation of 'Breathe'. Or: the lady looks at the author, says 'I'm sorry, did you think I was finished? After a forty year dry spell, and one round? I think not', and decides she has something to say after all.





	Tethers

Warm skin, a heartbeat, fingers toying with her hair: the luxurious decadence of lying naked with a man she’s just made love to. Cornelia Cavendish is having - not an out of body experience, because she’s more in her body than she’s been in years, right inside all the pleasant tingles and aches that come in the aftermath of sex - but an out of _self_ experience. 

She’s felt this sort of thing before, of course. Usually it happens at the outset of a solo trip, standing on the deck of a ship and watching land recede into the distance. There’s a loosening of the self at those times, a spiritual lightness as all the tethers that bind a person to their identity - family, responsibility, social expectations - come unmoored. It’s one of the most potent lures to the frequent traveller, but Cornelia has never felt it more strongly than she does now, here in this bed with the first lover she has taken in forty years. Across the city, her companions are spending their evening in whatever way they’ve chosen, as unaware of what she's been up to as Leo is of her real life, given the fiction she's just spun him about the nature of her travels. Tomorrow, she will go back to being her known self, but for now she feels wicked and fey: a temporary being inside her skin, a construction of her own making. It’s glorious. 

“So,” Leo says, toying with her hair still, clearly following his idle train of thought again, “you learned yoga from a manual, and you called Tantra a ‘field of study’ - does that mean you practise all the esoteric arts you investigate?”

Cornelia swivels her eyes up toward him, studies his face in profile. She enjoys how hard he’s trying to work her out, even if the answers she’s willing to give will never grant him the full picture. “Not all of them,” she says. “Not even most of them. I’ve no interest in attempting to read the future in chicken entrails, for example, though I have seen it done. I can just about perform a tarot reading, and I know the basics of palmistry. Here.” She reaches for his left hand, which is lying on his stomach, turns it towards her, and pulls it closer so she can inspect it. 

She measures the length of his palm and fingers against her own. “You’ve a fire hand,” she tells him. “Your fingers are shorter than the length of your palm. That means you’re likely to be full of energy, know what you want, be a good leader, maybe be a little bit impatient and short-tempered.” She glances up him. “Ring any bells?”

He’s got a sceptical eyebrow raised, but smiles wryly. “Go on,” he tells her.

She traces the lines of his palm as she speaks. “A strong curve in your life line - that’s energy again, plenty of it. It’s overlapping your head line, which means you’re good at dealing with people. There are a few crosses on your head line - a few important decisions you’ve had to, or will have to make. You have a fate line, fairly well defined, which means fate has played some role in your life. Your heart line is wavy, which suggests many relationships, but not serious ones. And, hmm,” she presses her thumb into the soft pad at the base of his. “Yes, your Venus mount is rather squishy, which tells me that you’re a good lover.” She glances up at him again and smiles. “Not that I really needed your palm to tell me that.”

Leo smiles back, somewhat indulgently. “Or most of the rest of it,” he says. “I’d like to meet someone who’s never made any important decisions in their life.”

Cornelia rolls a shoulder, conceding the point. “Well, take it or leave it.” A thought occurs to her, though, as if whispered by a devil on her shoulder, and in her fey state she likes it very much. “You might be more interested in acupuncture, actually.” She tries to sound casual, but there is a musical note in her voice that he seems to pick up on, if the way his smile lengthens is any indication. 

“Oh? And what is that?” His eyes are sparkling. 

“An Ancient Chinese practice based on the belief that we have channels of energy running through our body, and that certain points on our skin connect with those channels. Stimulating them is supposed to aid in healing or rejuvenation. It’s traditionally done by piercing the skin with very fine needles, but there is a variation that just involves applying pressure. It occurs to me that the pressure method might go quite well with Tantra.”

“It might,” he agrees, and looks genuinely interested this time. “Where are these points?” 

“Oh, all over,” Cornelia says, “for all sorts of things. But I can show you the ones that are linked with sexual energy, if you like.” She feels her lips twitch; her fingers brush his abdomen. She arches an eyebrow in question. 

“Alright,” he says, his expression lazy but interested. “Show me.” 

Cornelia shifts, sitting up, letting Leo reclaim the arm he’d had around her, then moving up beside him. She takes a moment to study his face, considering, then reaches out and slides her fingers into his hair. 

“This one’s not specific,” she says, fingers finding the crown of his head and massaging it, “but it’s a good place to start. Relaxing. Opens up the channels.”

“Mm,” he murmurs, eyes closing, “I could take that all day.”

Enjoying the sight of his jaw loosening, Cornelia gives him a good minute before sliding her hand away. He makes a disappointed noise when she stops, but doesn’t resist when she cups his jaw and turns his face toward her. She reaches out with her other hand too and feels out his ears, finding the spot right at the top where they attach to his skull and pressing her middle fingers in there, rolling in gentle circles. “This spot _is_ linked,” she says.

His smile is lopsided. “I bet,” he whispers, then lets his eyes fall closed again, groaning happily. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” she murmurs, when she pulls away. 

His eyes crack open. “Hm? Wouldn’t dream of it.” He rolls his shoulders to shake off his lethargy, propping himself up a little higher with the pillow as she shifts down the bed to kneel by his feet. 

“There are two here.” She turns her hands inward and lays them over his ankles. “One is about three fingers up from the top of your ankle.” She presses into his skin and feels her way. “Right about—” he sucks in a breath “—there.” She grins, massaging it. “More sensitive than you’d expect,” she says, and he laughs. 

“No kidding.”

She doesn’t spend too long there. “The other one is at the back, a little higher.” Her hands curl around to cup his calves, finding the general area and making circles with the pads of her fingers. “They’d be better if we had oil.” As it is, his hair is causing a bit too much friction, so she desists. 

“I get the idea,” he says. 

When she returns to him, she does so by climbing up his body, and she doesn’t realise quite how predatory that will feel until she’s in the middle of it, hands either side of him, hovering above him as she watches him swallow and sees his pupils dilate. It’s potent, the rush she gets from the naked desire in his eyes, and she hangs there for a moment, drinking it in, glutting herself on the electric charge that is still humming between them. 

“There are more,” she whispers.

“Show me,” he replies, and his fingers reach for her, but only manage to graze her rib cage before she settles back across his thighs. She catches his hand. 

“Right here,” she says, lifting it up, pressing her mouth to the inside of his wrist, the spot just below the base of his thumb, and sucking gently. “Got that?” she asks, when she pulls away. 

He lifts his other hand. “Is it the same?” he asks, mock innocence. She smiles, leaning in, catching his other wrist with her mouth as well and performing the action again, though she does nip him with her teeth before she pulls away this time, just for the cheek. 

“More or less,” she murmurs, and his hand cups her jaw for a moment before he lets it fall away. She releases his other hand, too, lowering it to rest on her knee, though hers stays lying atop it as she surveys his body again. 

It’s far from an unpleasant view. Time and life have left their marks on his body, of course, just as they have on hers (though his life has not seen fit to leave him with anything as unexplainable as multiple gunshot scars), but they haven’t made him unappealing. His chest is delightful - broad and wiry enough to feel strong when pressed up against her, but soft enough to be quite nice to kiss. It’s tanned, too, swarthy in that effortless way Americans are capable of, the one that seems to belie both their historical British lineage and the time of year. His cock isn’t terrible to look at, either. Although it’s less enthusiastic than it was earlier, now lying at rest against his leg, she likes the languid portrait it contributes to, the one where he’s looking at her with heated eyes even though his body seems to want nothing. That’s gratifying in a way all its own. 

She wonders what these next few touches will do.

“This one has a fancy name,” she says, laying her hand against his abdomen, “but I don’t remember what it is.” She presses the heel of her palm against the spot below his belly button, massages firmly, and she can see that he feels it - feels something. He takes a big steadying tantric breath, and there’s a sigh in the exhale. 

“I’m surprised you remember all this as well as you do,” he says, trying to be conversational, but she can hear the movement of her hand in his voice. “Presumably you didn’t learn it all with this exact scenario in mind.”

Cornelia shakes her head. “No. The opposite, actually. The first time I performed acupuncture on a man was for a live demonstration with an audience, so I wanted to make sure I didn’t hit any spots that might cause an awkward scene. I, uh...” She releases his abdomen, trails her fingers down to the next spot, which is nestled just below the line of his pubic hair. “I may have over-researched.”

She feels his laugh shake her hand, waits for it to subside before she presses her thumb into the spot, just rolling the tip of it, keeping the motion to a minimum. Her inactive fingers, she finds, want to come to rest brushing the side of his cock, so she lets them, and although she can’t see any physical response, she can certainly see it in his eyes when she looks back up at him.

“Well,” he says, gaze all molten-warm, “I’m honored to be the beneficiary of your useless knowledge.”

“Yes,” Cornelia agrees, feeling her expression turn fey again as she releases the spot, “you are. Because while I can’t imagine the man from the Royal Society would have appreciated this last one in an auditorium full of observers, I think you might rather enjoy it.” She drops her left hand down between his legs, gently scooping his testicles up, holding them out of the way so her right hand - which she prepares by licking her fingers - can slide in beneath. She finds the sensitive spot down between his scrotum and anus, presses in with the pads of her fingers and massages gently. “What do you think?” She looks up at him.

His eyes are slightly unfocused, but he pulls them toward her. “I think that if you were trying to stick me with a needle there I’d have something to say about it, but as it is...hmm, yeah, I think I could take that all day, too.” He blinks slowly, and his eyes unfocus again.

Pleased, Cornelia continues until her fingers start to dry out, then lets her hands fall away. “Do you feel rejuvenated?” she asks, smiling down at him. 

“I do,” he says, offering her a crooked smile in return and sliding his hand over her knee. “But I have to say, if you’re trying to get me warmed up for another round, it might not happen. The mind is willing - god, is it willing - but the body is unreliable. That doesn’t mean I can’t give you more—” he slides his thumb up the inside of her thigh “—but just so you know, my friend here may not come to the party.”

Not for the first time that night, Cornelia is surprised by - and grateful for - Leo’s honesty. She supposes that is what she’s been trying to do, really, but in her stilted British way, she didn’t even let the thought fully form for herself, let alone consider the possibility of discussing it. She doesn’t judge herself too harshly - she was always taught not to speak of such things, and she and Brendel hadn’t been married long enough to ever need to talk about intimacy. When they were together, she was a young bride and he a ship’s captain. Desire was simple for them: she wanted him when he came home from a voyage, she wanted him before he left again, and at any available opportunity in the moments in between. She didn’t have to think about it too much back then. But, she supposes, not thinking about it is probably how she’s managed to go forty years without this thing that, it turns out, is even better than she remembers.

She thinks about it now, looking down at Leo with his body all warm and spread out beneath her. Yes, she thinks, she would like to have him again. She doesn’t know when, or even if, she will have another opportunity like this, so yes, she would like to take all she can from this generous, giving lover who inexplicably looks at her like she’s a star he’s collided with and has somehow had the chance to hold. She would like his cock to be involved, though, if at all possible - she doesn’t mind feeling gluttonous, but she’d like to know he’s enjoying himself, too. 

She bites her lip as she looks down at him. “May I try?” she asks. “See if I can’t get him to rise to the occasion?”

Leo grins. “Cornelia, you can do anything you want to me.”

“Really?” she asks, arching a brow. “Now that is a dangerous offer.”

“I know,” he replies, gazing back, and the confident languor in his eyes is enough to make her insides quiver with heat. 

Pushing herself up, she looms over him again for a moment, then leans down for a kiss. “I’ll see what takes my fancy, then.”

This time, she doesn’t bother paying attention to his chest. In the spirit of knowing what she wants, she heads straight down, nudging Leo’s legs apart and rearranging herself so she is settled comfortably between them. It’s a nice vantage point. When she looks up, she can see his face - those warm eyes following her every move - and up close, his cock doesn’t look like anywhere near as much of a lost cause as he claimed, particularly not when she wraps her hand around it. 

“Just needs a bit of encouragement,” she says, and kisses it. 

She takes her time. He smells musky and animal, and a little bit like her, and as she mouths her way down the side of his shaft she feels like an insatiable wanton creature, even more wild and fey than before. She holds him against her cheek, breathes deeply, watches his face as she tilts her head and comes up the other side. His eyes give a slow blink, chest rising and falling heavily, and she can feel his thigh twitch. She gives him a stroke, once, twice, with a firm fist, and his breath rumbles out of him in a groan.

When she takes him into her mouth, his fingers slide into her hair. She feels them against her scalp as she descends on him, first groping and then massaging, not a bad attempt at the move she’d shown him earlier. As her head bobs, he manages to encourage her but not direct her, fingers a pleasant pressure. She rewards him with a hum, feeling the sound rumble up from deep in her throat and vibrate right through him to her lips. His grip falters, fists, tugs. 

This is working. She can feel the throb of him against her tongue, can feel him swelling between her lips. She keeps up the motion, eyes closing, revelling in the physicality of it, her cheeks warm and hollow with suction. She feels powerful, greedy, relishes the _you just met this man this morning and now here you are with his cock in your mouth_ audacity of it. She reaches up and presses her palm into his abdomen again, hears him groan and feels his hips roll. 

When she tastes salt, she pulls away. Her mouth makes a lovely wet _plop_ as she releases him. She licks her lips and smiles, enjoying the sight of her handiwork. That is definitely what she would call an erection. 

She looks up. “Enough?” she asks. “I don’t want to get carried away.”

Leo’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes dark with need. It takes him a few moments to regain the power of speech, but when he does, he nods, beckoning her: “Come up here.”

Cornelia does, and when she lands beside him he rolls to face her, immediately reaching out to caress her waist and hip, tug her leg up over his thigh. “You’re amazing,” he tells her, mouth finding her jaw, kissing it roughly before nuzzling into her throat. “Magic woman.” His breath is hot and heavy against her skin, his moustache tickles her; she feels her throat arch against his lips and a moan vibrate through her. It surprises her, the strength of her need, the speed at which her own want comes rushing back now that there’s room for it.

She clings to him, voice an urgent murmur, and it doesn’t take him long to stoke her fire. He presses her back into the covers until he’s half on top of her, strokes her throat and her shoulder, slides his hand down to cup her breast, teasing her nipple until she whines at him. He smirks, pinches her, then splays his fingers, a wide sweep across her belly before his hand descends. He pushes her legs apart, bends her thigh back, then his hand is sliding in to cup her sex. She whimpers when he touches her, palm pressing, a rough massage that makes her hips jerk against his hand. He spreads her with a finger, teases it against her entrance, then slides down past that to the space behind, finding the patch of skin - and bundle of nerves, apparently - that’s the equivalent of where she touched him. His finger rolls against the spot, making tiny circles, and he looks at her, eyebrow raised in question.

“How does it feel for you?” he asks, voice a wicked rasp.

God, he wants her to _talk?_ “Good,” she manages, “very. But not…” she hesitates, but now that she’s found her voice she thinks she might as well use it: “not as good as they’d feel inside me.” It’s garbled - she feels wicked saying it. Speaking her desire aloud rests right on the knife’s edge between discomfort and thrill for her, but Leo seems to understand. He grins, obliging her with first one, then two fingers, pressing into her and curling up against her insides. 

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathes, head falling back. Her eyes close, giving way to sensation, feeling his hand push and his palm grind, his fingers scissor and beckon. Her arms turn to jelly and fall back against the covers; her heel finds purchase and she uses its leverage to push herself against his hand. 

She is a creature made of nothing but nerve endings and fire. Her mouth is open and there are a series of sounds coming from her throat, but they seem to have a life of their own. Her hips undulate against him, muscles clenching, and she feels herself climbing fast, head spinning. 

“Steady now,” Leo whispers, and his hand stills. She makes a little noise of protest when his fingers leave her, but he soothes her somewhat by keeping his palm against her, just holding her heat. She opens her eyes and finds him looking at her, eyes alight. 

“I wish you could see what you look like when you let go like that,” he says, smiling down at her. “I’d love to watch you come on my fingers, but I suspect you had something else in mind when you put all that effort into stiffening me up again.”

That brings her back to herself. It’s still there, his erection - she can feel it pressed up against her hip - and she does want to feel it inside her again, wants him to climax with her. “Yes,” she agrees, a little breathless.

His fingers slide away from her, hand moving up stroke her belly. “Well then. It’s lady’s choice. How would you like me to take you?”

Even being asked is a thrill, because there it is again, that boundary of articulation. Cornelia bites her lip, considering the possibilities. Although she enjoyed how much control she had in the position they were in the first time - and was grateful to Leo for being thoughtful enough to manoeuvre them into it - she also rather likes being manhandled. There’s something to be said for a pair of strong arms holding you, pinning you, bending you over. 

She can’t decide. “Throw me onto my back,” she says, and feels a kick from the words alone, “or take me from behind.”

Leo smirks at her, quirks an eyebrow. He seems to have picked up a hint from her phrasing - particularly, she realises belatedly, since she’s already on her back - because he asks: “Gentle or rough?”

Cornelia smiles. “You can rough me up a bit if you like.”

Leo’s voice comes out a growl. “Alright then.” He claims her mouth with a kiss, then lurches to his knees, planting himself firmly on them before wrapping his fist around his cock. A feral smile twists his lips as he gives himself a few strokes, then he reaches out for her, grabbing hold of her ankles and tugging her toward him. Cornelia squeaks in surprise as she’s dragged down the bed, feeling her hair catch beneath her shoulder before it fans out behind her. She grabs hold of the covers for balance as he lifts her hips into position, and he props one of her ankles against his shoulder as he takes hold of his cock again, teasing himself against her entrance before locking his gaze with hers. 

“Don’t be shy, now. Let me know you like it.” And with that he sheaths himself in her. 

There is a moment’s stillness, a hanging moment where Leo’s eyelids flutter and she can see the whites beneath them, where he grabs at the ankle resting on his shoulder and clings to it for support; a moment where she feels suddenly, deliciously, completely _full_. The he shifts, pulls back and thrusts, and they’re moving. 

He starts slow, but there is nothing gentle about the motion. He pushes the breath out of her with every stroke. Her legs are stretched out in a V above her; he's holding her ankles tight. Cornelia grips the covers, tries to meet his thrusts, but she has very little power at this angle, can do nothing but take the onslaught and feel thoroughly, perfectly conquered. 

Leo grinds his pelvis into hers, and she gasps. He rolls his hips, and she moans. “ _God_ ,” she whispers, trying to use her voice like he asked, “do that again.” He does, and her fingers flex against the covers, gripping and releasing. 

Fingers. She does have those. Reaching out, she finds two things to do with them: one grabs at his thigh to anchor her, and with the other she touches herself. She sees his eyes fixate on her hand as she brings it up to toy with her nipple, then slides it down over her belly and drags her fingers over her sex, twitching with pleasure and spreading herself open to his gaze. When he looks back up at her, his eyes are fire, and suddenly she wants him closer.

She reaches up; her fingertips scrape his belly. “Come down here,” she breathes. “I’ll hold onto you.” She flexes her calves, and when he releases her ankles, her legs curl around him. “I’ve got you.” She reaches for him as he descends, but he catches her wrists in his hands and pins them back against the bed. 

“Do you now,” he whispers, adjusting his grip, thumbs stroking her wrists even as he holds her down with his entire weight. He gives her a hard thrust and she tightens her legs around him and lifts her hips to meet it, grinning at him when he growls.

“We’ve got each other,” she says, hooking her ankles together and digging them into his backside. She stretches against the confines of his grip, just enough to test it, a little show of struggle that kicks off a fire in her belly. “Do your worst.”

He has to sacrifice some of the force at this angle, but he picks up speed, and soon they are one thing made of nothing but heat and motion. She holds on tight to him as he pounds into her, as his breath turns into a series of hisses and grunts. In the cage of his arms she is free to thrash and buck, knowing even as her back arches off the bed that he’s got her, that she’s held tight in his powerful grip. When her eyes close, it’s nothing but sensation and sound: the bed rattling against the wall, the slick slap of his skin against hers, the fire rapidly growing in her and the vibration in her chest as she makes noises of her own. When she opens her eyes again he is looking at her, dark-pupiled and smiling, his expression half wild. 

It takes her a moment to realise that he’s speaking to her, that the noise is more than just breath. “If you let go,” he’s saying, “I’ll turn you over.”

The thought of stopping - of breaking momentum - is agonising, but thrilling at the same time. Cornelia is greedy, eager to experience all of the action she’s missed for so long. Before she can think about it too much, she unhooks her ankles, falling away from him as he shifts. There’s an exquisite pang as he withdraws from her, an empty ache, but she doesn’t have much time to think about that either, because in the next moment he’s flipping her onto her stomach. Her hands are free, catching herself against the covers, but he doesn’t give her time to push herself up. Instead, he simply scoops a hand under her belly and angles her hips up, then he’s entering her again, pushing into a space that feels even hotter and tighter than before.

He falls against her back, pressing her down. His hand slides beneath her armpit, fingers flattening against her chest as he braces himself against his forearm, but that’s all the respite she gets from his full weight against her back as his hips slap against her backside. His free hand scoops up her hair, tugging her head back, and his breath is hot against the back of her neck. 

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks. He’s grinding into her and his voice is ragged with arousal but it’s not just show - nothing he has said to her has been for show. 

Cornelia is foggy, burning up. The hair-pulling is addling her brain, and although he's taking the worst of his weight, her chest is still restricted; the stars she’s seeing are not all her ache for release. Still, she feels safe here, like she’s on the edge of something glorious, free to be as animal as she likes. She doesn’t want him anywhere else. “ _Yes_ ,” she manages to hiss, then sucks some more air into her lungs. “ _Yes - yes!_ ”

“Then come for me,” he whispers, breathless himself. His hand releases her hair and slides underneath her again; he finds her clitoris and slips his fingers either side of it so his thrusts push her into them. “Let go and come for me.”

Everything blurs. His weight is heavy against her back, his teeth nip her ear. His hand grinds against her from below and his cock is filling her up, splitting her open, ragged and constant. Cornelia is crushed between the bedcovers and him, swimming in stars. Her skin is too tight, her body nothing but a cage of nerve endings and pressure. She feels herself shaking beneath him, trembling, rubbing herself against him even as she tries to crawl out of her skin. He holds her fast, pushes her further, and every atom of her screams and burns. When she breaks, she’s like a star imploding, pulling in everything around her. Her hands fist in the covers and she grips him like a vice, then she breaks into a million pieces and takes him with her into oblivion.

She reforms slowly, atom by atom, and when finally she is a whole person again she opens her eyes, and finds herself on her side. She can still feel Leo's weight, but it’s only his arm draped around her, as limp and heavy as she is. He must have rolled them with the last of his energy, while she was too delirious to notice. He’s still inside her, soft now but held in place by the angle of their bodies, and when she tightens her muscles she can feel the aftershocks of her climax as a pleasant ripple through her belly. She lolls in the sensation for a while, swimming in a sea of her own twitching nerve endings, and when it fades away she gives another idle squeeze, curious how long she can prolong this for. The second wave is gentler than the first, but still enjoyable, and when she does it a third time he chuckles quietly behind her.

“Are you having fun there?” he asks, splaying his hand across her middle. “I'm quite happy for you to use me, but I’m afraid I will have to ask you for it back eventually.”

Cornelia smiles, twists her upper body around so she can see him. “Sorry,” she says, though she’s sure she doesn’t look it at all. “Just experimenting.” She squeezes once more, and it’s still nice, but her muscles are tired, and it's definitely becoming more effort than it's worth by now.

Leo leans in to kiss her. “Do you ever _not_ investigate?” he asks.

Cornelia hums a laugh. “They’ll have to put me in the ground to stop me.” Finished with this little experiment, though, she spreads her knees and lifts her hips, letting him slide out of her, then rolls to face him. Her fingers find his cheek and she kisses him again, properly this time, long and slow. “Thank you for indulging me,” she whispers after, and she’s definitely talking about more than a little squeezing. 

Leo smooths her hair away from her face. “You are more than welcome,” he replies. “Meeting you has made this my best trip of the year.”

“It’s only April,” she reminds him. 

He smiles, eyes full of amused sincerity. “I know.”

Cornelia looks away, bashful at that, and why that should be the thing to make her blush when he’s just had her six ways from Sunday, she doesn’t know. She rests with it, though, lets it fill her up with a warm glow, and when he drops his hand away from her hair she catches it in her own, trailing her thumb over the lines of his palm again and thinking about fate and heart. 

“Who could have predicted that our lines would cross?” she wonders. “Or that I would have the best sex of my life a few months shy of 67?” She sends a silent apology to Brendel’s memory, but really, they were so young. It’s the truth. 

“You’re 67?” Leo asks, and there’s a curiosity in his voice that makes her look up again.

“Nearly,” she says. “Why?”

He grins. “I’m 65. Tell me: how does it feel to go to bed with a _younger man?_ ” 

He laughs, and she reaches out and shoves him in the chest. “Sod off!” But she’s smiling, and when he rolls away dramatically, clutching his chest as though he’s been shot, she laughs as well, even if it does turn to panic for a moment when he rolls right off the bed. He’s clearly planned it, though, lands nimbly on his feet and grins at her again.

“I’m going to get us some water. You can get under the covers, if you like.” He makes for the main room, but pauses before he reaches it, glancing back at her. “By the way, you’re lucky I’m American, so I don’t know quite _how_ vulgar you were just now, but I’m pretty sure that qualified.”

“Guilty!” she admits, and he walks away laughing. 

While he’s gone, she does indeed crawl under the covers. She takes the moment to fix her hair as well, running her fingers through it before pulling it into a rough braid, which she secures by twisting in on itself. It will be a mess by morning, and difficult to pick out besides, but far better than it snagging every time either of them move in the night, or forcing him to wake up with a mouthful of it. 

By the time he returns, she’s reclining against the pillows. He pauses by the main light switch, juggles the glasses to flick it off, and then he’s coming back to her illuminated only by the soft yellow bed lamp. She takes a moment to enjoy the view - the shadows carve him out rather nicely - and then he hands her one of the glasses and slips into the bed beside her.

“No whiskey, this time,” he says, “but cheers anyway.”

She smiles. “I think I need this more than I need alcohol.” Which is not a sentence she's heard herself say very often. She swallows a mouthful, and she wasn’t wrong - she doesn’t realise how thirsty she is until the water touches her lips. She drains the glass, almost - leaves just enough for a mouthful in the night, then sets the tumbler on the bedside table. 

Leo has done the same, is waiting for her, already stretched out and turned toward her, but poised with his hand on the lamp, giving her the chance to settle. She does, snuggling back against him, and he flicks them into darkness. He adjusts the covers and his arm slides around her as they wriggle down, curling into each other's heat. His hand strokes her ribcage, fingers making a few lazy circles around one of her nipples, then coming to rest against her stomach. 

Cornelia flexes her calves, feeling tight, and knows that's the least of the ache she'll feel in the morning - the price she’ll have to pay for being quite so athletic. It will be worth it, would be a hundred times over - she thinks of all the aches and pains she's dealt with in the aftermath of her recent adventures, and how much less pleasant they were in comparison to tonight - and well, she reflects, at least she was slightly prepared today.

“Mm, I’m glad I did my stretches this morning,” she murmurs, settling to stillness. 

His laugh is a single warm breath against her shoulder. He follows it with a kiss. “Mm, so am I.”

She realises what she’s said, and smiles in the dark.


End file.
